


Nine Hundred Sixty-Three

by bluemoon30



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemoon30/pseuds/bluemoon30
Summary: It has been 963 years since Vax had died, and Keyleth is going to Whitestone to remember him.





	Nine Hundred Sixty-Three

**Author's Note:**

> OMG, I finally finished something. It's not long, but I hope you like it either way.

Nine Hundred Thirty-Six. Nine Hundred Thirty-Six years since the love of her life was taken from her. Ever sense Vax’ildan had died, Keyleth had come to this very spot once a year. Each time, she sat on his bench. To tell his, no, their, story to the people of Whitestone. For the first few years, Vex had been by her side, but like everyone else, she was gone now. Keyleth was alone. She was old; she was tired. Keyleth hoped that she had lead her people well. She hoped that she made Tal’dori a better place, but now was not the time for wishes and dreams, she reminded herself. Now was a time to mourn for him. For Vax. For the way he had loved each and every one of their friends.

 

Keyleth had thought it would get easier as time went on, and in a way, it was true. She could only remember him wy what she forced herself to remember, but as it turns out, this only made it worse. What she had so long ago seemed to be the only things she cared about now. She sat there, crying for most of the day. Her eyes were still glossy when she returned to Whitestone. She was welcome here. They had hosted a dinner for her. At first, it was Vex, but now it was her descendants. She had how many generations it had been, but somehow, these people still loved her. It turns out that through her mourning, she had made a place for herself here. So this time, as she sat down at the table, faces so different than the ones of her friends greeted her, but she loved them all the same. So as she started the Legend of Vox Macina, for it indeed was a legend now, telling it to this generation of de Rolos, she knew that Vax had a home now. That they all had a home. That their story would live on.

 

After the dinner, Keyleth went back to the woods; this time to remember her friends. She had made a bench for each of them when they died, and now it was a tradition for her to go around and remember them, sitting on their own seat. She took a deep breath and sat down on Percy’s and thought of their times together. She thought of him and Vex, and what they had gotten up to in their later years. The clocktower they built still stood if it was not a bit disheveled by now. Their parade happened every year, Keyleth made sure of that. She made sure that the old Baron of Whitestone was remembered.

Eight Hundred Sixty-Five years without him.

She then collected her self and moved one bench over, to Grog. He had died next. Only eleven years later. It had struck Pike the hardest, as they grew up together. They had practically lived together after they all parted ways, and after he was gone, she really hit a rough patch.

Eight Hundred Fifty-Four.

Then Vex. She had been miserable since both Percy and Vax were six feet under. She kept up with her duties until Percy had passed, but then she had given the lordship to their eldest, Vax’ildan, after his uncle. Keyleth had visited her quite a bit in those eighty-some years. And even after all that time, she had hardly changed. Suborn as a mule.

Seven Hundred Ninety-Seven.

None of them died after that, at least for a while. But eventually, Scanlan met his end. His book had done well, and he and Pike had lived life to it’s fullest. They didn’t settle down until Pike had had their first child, only ten years before Vex died. They ended up having three, and Keyleth had visited them. But despite all the kids, Scanlan never really settled down. He died before he had lost all of his spunk.

Four Hundred Ninety-Nine.

Finally, Pike. The last one she could talk too. Over the next few years, Pike had practically lived with Keyleth. Neither one of them were just ready to let go of their childhood, their adventures. They talked every day, of the new things and the old, reminiscing and talking about what Pike’s children had gotten up to. They all took their mother’s name, even Scanlan, but they all had the Shorthalt spunk. Even Pike had adopted a lot of it, but now that was gone. She was gone.

Four Hundred Eighty-Seven.

She looked at the last bench, the engraving on top. She placed it here earlier that day. Keyleth, it read. By now, she was tired. She wanted to see him, so she sat on her own bench and remembered her own story. She remembered how each of them fit into it. How he still fits into it. The love of her life. Her Vax.

One.


End file.
